


Come Together

by WanderingAlice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25345573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: After the end-of-the-world-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley finally,finallycome together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 119





	Come Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfjackle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfjackle/gifts).



> A gift for Wolfjackle, who has been an amazing cheerleader for my fic! Thank you so much for letting me bounce ideas off you and whine about my writing problems.
> 
> (She also has a really fantastic fic about Crowley adopting a gaggle of children, and you should all [go check it out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781328) because it's _so good_.)

It is the night After. After the apocalypse. After escaping both Heaven and Hell. After eleven years of fear. After six millenia of Waiting for the End. After. And yet, also Before. Before every last moment of the rest of their lives.

Crowley sprawls on Aziraphale’s couch, drunk on nothing so much as freedom. Aziraphale watches him from the chair by his desk, reveling in light in those uncovered eyes. He’s always loved the yellow of them. It’s so bright. Like dandelions. Like the sun.

“Ah, Crowley,” he says, hesitating even now. Because it is After, but it is also Before. That moment of uncertainty at the top of a cliff. Do you jump? If you do, will you fall? Or will you fly?

“Angel?” Crowley watches him, sun-bright eyes on his face and not the way his fingers turn the ring over and over on his finger - the telltale sign of his nerves.

“I- that is- ah,” it is hard to begin, when he has spent so long waiting. When so much of his life has been of fear. Crowley waits, as he ever has, the very soul of patience.

“There’s something-” Aziraphale starts, then stops again, looking down. He does not know how to break six thousand years of silence. He stands, needing to move, hoping the motion will knock the words loose inside of him. “I-”

“It’s alright,” Crowley tells him, smiling gently. “I can wait. Go as slow as you like.”

“No.” His vehemence surprises them both. “No, I’m done with waiting. With going slow. Hiding what I- what I feel. What I _want_. I don’t want to wait _one second_ more.”

“Then what _do_ you want, Angel?” Crowley asks, a careful hope in his words.

Aziraphale goes to him and takes him by the hand, pulling him up until he’s standing bare inches away. Crowley freezes there, eyes wide, not daring to move. Afraid of spooking him should he come too close or move too fast. It breaks his heart to see it. He never wants to be the cause of Crowley’s fear. Never again.

He takes a deep breath, there on the edge of the cliff between what is After and what is Before. And then, he makes the jump.

“I want you.” 

He pauses, and the world does not shatter. No clash of thunder or flash of lightning. No horns of war or battle drums sound in the distance. No searing pain as his wings burn to black. The retribution he spent so long fearing does not come.

“I want you,” he says again, and the only other sound is Crowley’s harsh breathing. Emboldened by the silence, he continues, the words starting out as a trickle but coming easier and easier until they are a flood. “I want you in any way and every way you care to give me. Whether it’s just as we’ve been, or something more. I want you here, safe, where neither Heaven nor Hell can take you from me. I want walks in the park. I want dinner at the Ritz. I want to ride with you in that infernal car of yours, and to watch you yell at your plants. I want you to make fun of my magic tricks and roll your eyes at me when you think I’m being ridiculous. I want to not need to find excuses for us to see each other. I want- I want _our side_. Not just not-Heaven and not-Hell, but you and I. Together. I-” He stops, and still the world does not erupt into flames.

“I want,” he adds softly, taking Crowley’s hands in his as the demon stands there, stunned to silence. “To stop this dance we’ve done around each other for the past six thousand years. I want to stop waiting, and tell you exactly what you are to me.”

Crowley closes his eyes, shoulders shaking from the monumental effort of holding back six thousand years of longing.

“Is that…” Aziraphale stops, hesitant, suddenly afraid he’d assumed too much. Had read too far into this dance they’ve always done, orbiting around each other like binary stars. “Is that something you might want, too?”

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley breathes, the word itself a prayer. “Go- Sata- _yes_.” He opens those sun-bright eyes and meets Aziraphale’s own sea-blue gaze. They are standing so close now. Just a hairs breadth away. Crowley’s breath brushes his cheeks every time he exhales. One step closer is all it would take. All he has to do is reach out, and Crowley would be in his arms. He has never wanted anything so badly. Nor been so completely incapable of movement.

“I would like- that is to say, um,” his eyes flick down to Crowley’s lips and then away. “I, only if you want to, of course, but, well. I’ve wanted to for so long. And now, well, now I _can_ , um. If you’ll let me, that is. I-”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupts. “If you don’t kiss me, _right now_ , I think I’m going to explode.”

“Well now,” Aziraphale grins. “We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” He takes a step forward, and takes Crowley’s face in his hands, burying his fingers in soft scarlet hair.

“You’re shaking." This close, he can feel it with his whole body.

“Just-” Crowley swallows. “Just nerves. Angel, you don’t know how _long_ I-”

“I think I do.” He runs his thumbs over Crowley’s cheekbones, reveling in the feel of him, the _reality_ of him, there and solid and _real_ under his hands. His Crowley. _His_. “I’ve wanted this since… oh, Rome, maybe. Or even before.”

“I’ve wanted you since Eden,” the demon murmurs, hands coming to rest on Aziraphale’s arms. “When I saw you’d given up your sword for the humans. That’s when I knew you were special.”

Aziraphale blinks, astonished. “That long?”

“Mm.” Crowley’s staring at _his_ lips now. “That long.”

There’s a breath. A pause. A moment to capture and hold in his mind for eternity. Then he leans in, ever so slightly, and presses their lips together.

It is… there aren’t words for this. Not in any book that has ever been or will ever be. It is like coming home after a long day to find your lover waiting for you with a smile. It is like sinking into a warm bath, or taking that first sip of the perfect hot cocoa. Like breathing in the fresh autumn air, or watching snow fall beyond the window next to a roaring fire. Like an oath, a promise, that here in this moment this person is yours and you are theirs. That you will never, ever let go. It is lightning racing through your veins and singing down your nerves, electric, making you feel that much more alive. It is a dance of hands and bodies and breath, two lives coming together, for just a moment so close as to be one.

Crowley’s hands are in Aziraphale’s hair, fingers tangled in white curls. He lets out a soft moan, and Aziraphale all but melts, running his hands down his back and clutching at his hips, pulling him closer, closer, until there is no room even for air between them. Crowley presses closer still, holding on as if his life depends upon it. He’s shaking still, hard enough Aziraphale fears he might fly apart.

“It’s alright, darling,” he murmurs into the kiss, not wanting to pull back for even a second. “I’ve got you.”

Crowley sighs, wrapping his arms around the angel, grabbing the fabric of his shirt in his fists. Aziraphale holds him gently, slowing the urgency of the kiss. He runs his hands up and down Crowley’s back, soothing him until his shaking stops. His fingers find the place where Crowley’s shirt rides up, exposing a thin strip of pale skin. He draws small circles there, tracing around the scales that are scattered along the demon’s spine.

Crowley gasps at the sudden sensation, breaking this kiss and pulling his face away.

Aziraphale freezes, hands going still. “Too much?”

“ _Don’t stop_ ,” Crowley hisses, and captures his lips again. Aziraphale hums in pleasure, resuming his exploration of Crowley’s back. Scales, freckles, and scars, his fingers find and map them all as he memorizes the shape of him, the feel of him, here in his arms.

“ _Never_ ,” Aziraphale promises. He won’t. He swears it to himself, on every last shred of his faith. He will never again spend a day without moments like this. “I am never letting you go again.”

Crowley chuckles. “Good.”

“I love you.” He hadn’t meant to say it yet. Not so soon. For all his insistence that it’s the demon that goes too fast, Aziraphale knows that in this it he who must be careful. The words had just slipped out, unbidden, centuries of holding back broken by the feel of Crowley in his arms and the taste of his laugh on his lips.

“I know,” Crowley tells him, leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes. “I love you too, Angel.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, as always entranced by those sun-bright eyes. “Good,” he says. “Because I’m afraid, my dear, that you’re rather stuck with me now.”

A surprised grin slides across the demon’s face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then he leans in, and kisses him again.


End file.
